


Scenes from an Anthill

by FaintlyMacabre



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Isolation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Isolation, The Lonely - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaintlyMacabre/pseuds/FaintlyMacabre
Summary: A collection of drabbles about brushes with the Entities. No overarching storyline, no chronology. Micro-statements! But sometimes in third person!
Kudos: 2





	Scenes from an Anthill

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! I'll be updating the tags, characters and relationships as I add more ficlets. Rating will probably not exceed M, ever, but I'll be updating that, too.
> 
> CW: depression, self-isolation.

It’s cold, where Martin is. It couldn’t have been this cold when it was Elias’s office. He’s sure he would have remembered, even if the only times he’d gone in there he’d been so nervous it was all he could do to keep his wits about him. To keep his hands from shaking, although he didn’t always manage that. To keep a tight hold on his thoughts, channel the right ones into speech and bring them into the air clear and solid, if in a higher register than he’d like. He’s sure the shaking had nothing to do with the temperature. 

It’s cold where Martin is, but he’s gotten used to it. If he hadn’t, he might notice that it follows him, almost visibly, a vague mist clinging to his skin and his jumper, hiding in the curls of his hair. He might notice how it’s fading him out, sapping his color, a little more all the time. It’s not as though he doesn’t realize it’s trying to pull him in, biting down, tooth by tooth. He doesn’t have to face his own reflection in the bathroom mirror to know he’s going away. He doesn’t even have to tell himself he’s helping Peter save the world, some days. Some days it is enough that he is disappearing. He was always dead weight: around his mother’s neck, for a long time, and then at the Institute. If he’s not taking up their time, if they don’t have to worry about him anymore, maybe it’s worth it even if he doesn’t end up helping anyone outside of these walls. 

It’s usually only when he reads statements aloud in Elias’s— in Peter’s— in  _ this _ office, into the tape recorder (that  _ he _ brought in,  _ himself _ , not one that’s just manifested), that the cold begins to abate. He can avoid the others most of the time, but he still has to do his job, and that job just happens to bring the gaze of the Eye down upon him, and it  _ hurts _ . He can work through it but he feels as though the teeth sunk into him are being pulled out one by one, and each is barbed. And unlike normal, physical wounds, these won’t heal up if cleaned and cared for. They’ll remain, open and painful and raw, food for the Eye, and he’d rather not feed it anymore. But he squares his shoulders, grits his teeth, and does what he has to. 

When he stops recording, he sits still and pulls the Lonely close around him. The cold falls over him and teeth sink back in and it feels… Well. It feels like something familiar. These days, familiar is the closest he gets to comfort. 

  
  



End file.
